Dear K,
Outside, I hear the rain. I used to love the way it washed the world, and how all the colors bled together in light bursts until everything was beautiful. But now it feels like a giant version of sadness, like all the world is crying for you. And I'm crying for you, tonight. My heart holds heaviness, a leaking bag of sand limping across the landscape of relics of us; all these ways I miss you:
I miss the way you turned your eyes on me with a hint of a smile, the way your lips curled up just before you'd do or say something to make me laugh. The way you'd do anything to get me to laugh when I was down. I'm missing how if you were here now, first you would hold me. You'd let it be one of those long, lingering hugs, tight and safe. I'd bury my face in your neck and breath you, feel the softness of your skin again my face. And then you'd rub my sides a bit, and look directly into my eyes, searching to see if whatever was wrong had been set right.
And that was the most magnificent thing about you, to be so in tune that my body language was louder than my words and I seldom had to tell you when something was wrong. Where are you tonight, when things are so very wrong? Where have you gone, Lovey, now that I feel so empty and alone? There is guilt in this heavy heart of mine, wanting to heal but feeling badly for wanting it so. My mind wants my heart to fall out of love with you so we can find happiness, but my heart is yours and yours alone. And everyone says words that mean so little like time and heartache and grief and these things that mean an everything that feels like nothing at all. I'm sick of the blandness of life. I'm sick of the way things look the color of honey: blurry with the kind of slow stickiness that blends together entire days in a mire of forgetfulness.
I am bad at life now, Lovey. My drive is less than half what it was when I was pushing towards the best life with you. My desire is only to get by, only to do something just past the basics to keep from suffering too much. They say these things will pass, that there is no time table for any of this and I hear it and that is fine. But this is just a long stream of conscious when all I want is the comfort of your arms. My head is pounding, threatening a monumental migraine. My skin has gone to shit, lost weight, gained it, lost it, gained it. All of this is shit. Just a big steaming pile.
How could this have been what was for us, Lovey? How could it? I hope this life passes easy and quick so that in the next blink of an eye I can ask you these questions and you can answer and we can try again. Oh, to be able to try again. I have to believe that is possible. I have to.
With difficulty and love,
Leppy
